Wednesday, September 30

So I went back to Oregon this past weekend for a visit. A reintroduction of my roots.

Person: "Wow, you sure look East Coast."

Me: *GASP!!!!* "No, don't say that."

I was slightly offended. Slightly taken aback. I didn't know how to respond. I didn't want to unload a "wtf????" I just sort of stood there, jaw open, sure of my strong West Coast-ness, my love for all things relaxed and un-uptight.

I recycle...religiously...for crying out load. I love Columbia. And Chacos. And Subarus. I joke about being a lesbian and taking my dogs for hikes. I'm not offended by rainbow stickers and gay marriage. I live for the rain. And wavy, unpolished hair. I choose enviro-friendly products for even the most menial cleaning ventures.

Tuesday, September 29

It wasn't too bad. I zonked out a good portion from Portland to Chicago. Then I had a half hour layover in Chicago, which left me finding a bar right next to my gate. "Blue Moon and a cheeseburger, please."

Then in the 6 minutes it took me to eat my burger, I had a 45 minute delay.

I love when news is sprung on me after alcohol kicks in, because then I don't care.

But alas, we make it all the way to Norfolk. Wook picks me up. We start driving. I start yelling at the idiots who can't drive correctly. The retards who can't stay in their lane. I'm tired of Norfolk already. And it's only been 17 minutes.

Tomorrow's back to the grindstone. Back to the working life. Back to dreaming of the West Coast. Of the superb beer. Of my family. Of the Orange and Black. Of next time.

I was up at 3:30am PST. I'll leave here at 4:30am PST for Portland International. Flight scheduled for 6:31am PST (not just 6:30am, mind you). And I hope there's a fully functioning steel tube prepared to jump over the Rockies into Chicagoland. Pretty please...

Tuesday, September 22

It was a nice summer in Oregon when a young woman was taken from an apartment complex just off Oregon State's campus. My campus. My beloved campus. Right there. Asshole. And I'm not sure if it made national news, but the PacNW was definitely aware of how a rapist was already caught in New Mexico and then considered an interest in this missing girl's case.

That fall and later, 2 bloggers moved into the same apartment complex (although not together, but less than 30 yards apart). I, being a nearly 5'11" redhead, didn't worry about being abducted. But you better believe I was around with Mommy McD at her towering height of 5'Short."

People questioned my sanity for living in an apartment complex with such a history. Journalists would come by asking for stories, viewpoints, opinions of living here. I never gave a care. I liked living 8 minutes walking to my building. I liked living 10 minutes walking to the tailgating spot. I liked living on the quieter side of campus where there isn't unst-unst music till dawn, people barfing in my yard, or hooking up on the front porch couch across the street. And the new managers loved us. Just call Mommy McD and Mrs Wookie apartment complex favorites.

Well Mommy McD facebook'd today that after 5 years, she was found. Finally.

And the killer did all that to avoid the death penalty. I wonder if it's considered un-kosher to reneg on that offer. Be like, "Psych!" and throw the switch. I would.

Monday, September 21

I didn't watch them, but I'm happy with the results. And the host. Oh, NPH...

And if the only thing you get out of this post is to watch one movie, I did my job.

Jessica Lange won Best Actress in a Movie for Grey Gardens (a remake) on HBO. It was produced by Drew Barrymore, and it was stellar. Very thought-provoking. A great movie. I watched it twice by myself, and once more with my mom. Then again by myself. It definitely helped me in making my decision to jump East. I recommend downloading it. Legally or illegally, your call. Or Netflixing it. Or HBO-ing it. Something.

Sunday, September 20

First I got sick. Then wook got sick. Then I got un-sick. Then wook got un-sick. Then I got re-sick. Then wook got re-sick. Then wook got un-sick. Then I got a case of the lingering phlegm hanging off the back of my sinuses. (Sorry, I know, it's kinda a sick mental picture - but just think, you don't have to hear me.)

So I got even. Knobs, handles, arm rests, switches, buttons, and pulls beware. There's a new killer in town (and I'm not talking the killer that's on the loose in Washington State). It's called Lysol. Brought to you by Mrs Wookie's index finger. It's like an aerial ballet around the loft. Spray, spray here, spray, spray there, a couple of la-dee-daaaas, that's how we keep the germs at bay at the Merry Ol' Land of Oz. This thing is awesome. Not only am I "cleaning," but I get to dance while I do it. How often do people have fun cleaning a toilet? Exactly. I can get on board this kind of cleaning. Now if only there were a spray for runaway Cheerios in the morning. And laundry.

Saturday, September 19

I clicked my order in Thursday night. By Friday early evening, both boxes were marked "shipped" by the Gods of Target and had a tracking number.

I decided on a neutral boot that can go with all arrays of jacket colors. And this one was deemed a "tall boot" - so I thought that a little extra boot never hurt my lower legs. And darn Target for only carrying a couple selections in store. But at least this way I save gas and avoid the ghetto where the nearest Target is located.

And in order to qualify for that pesky "Spend $50 In Completely Random And Obscure Areas, Qualify For FREE SHIPPING!"....this baby is on her way here. Just look at her. A fabulous orange work bag. (Go Beavs.) Now let's hope the beauty is in the bag and not just the picture. Because that would not be cool, Target.

Wednesday, September 16

At least I think you're 24. Wook's age, right? I could be wrong. But whatever.

Anyways, my dear, get better. You sound like death. I know it's not nice to tell people that/when they sound like death...but friends don't lie.

I wish you consciousness on your birthday. Maybe an adult beverage to kill the pain. A quick recovery. Maybe we can hit up a pedi stop the next time I'm in town. (Mark, have I ever told you, you're my favorite adopted sister's husband??)

And what's up with your sister making equally adorable offspring? You guys need to stop. The world needs to catch up. And by world, I mean me. Do you know how hard it'll be to pass on eyeballs the size of mine??? My dad did it, but I mean, look at me. I'm a rare cause. A diamond in the rough. A granule of awesome in a bag of oats.

Tuesday, September 15

Wake Up Time: 5:09am. "Hey baby, it's 5am, don't you need to get up?" Awake from peaceful sleep, look at the clock, think No, it's not 5am, it's 5:09am, there's a difference, 5am allows me to pretend I'm sleeping for another 9 minutes...but instead you made me think that I have 9 minutes of delaying the inevitable need of getting up way too early.

Breakfast: Okay, no surprise here. A gigantic bowl of Cheerios. And this time they all stayed in the bowl as I walked from the kitchen to the coffee table (we're still kinda searching for a pub-height, 2 stools with-backs, table to officially call a dining nook). Yesterday was a little crazy as over a dozen suicidal Cheerios jumped from the bowl all over the floor. And I forgot to clean them up. Wook thought a grenade went off in the battle of Captain Crunch vs the Honey Bee.

But let's not forget my mission yesterday of tracking down vegan butter (yes, an oxymoron, I agree) and egg replacer. I'm bringing in homemade vegan pumpkin muffins this morning since we have to be in really early today. And yes, one of coworkers is vegan. And it's not like it'll hurt us to eat vegan. Besides, it was kinda interesting to watch a vegan recipe come together (the egg replacer is a powder you add water to - weird - and then the amount of baking powder is ungodly).

The Attire: I don't know yet, story of most mornings.

Lunch Date: It'll be my leftover Thai food from Saturday night.

The End: Thank goodness tomorrow isn't as earlier as a morning. Yay, sleep.

And FYI, it's juuuuust launched. No fancy-shmancy templates or features yet. But those are to come, right Kerby??? I know lots of people use Cutest Blog On The Block, so I'll look around for anything I feel is "Kerb worthy." If not, we'll work something out. But at least it's launched, which a step in the right directon.

But until then, feel free to jump on over and visit.

I mean, the girl's only been there a few days and has already met the German Chancellor! At a rally. And got to hold a sign for her. And shake her hand!!!

I can see the headlines now...

American pulls off excellent German accent, invades political rally, meets Chancellor, shakes hand, is offered job at U.S. Embassy in Berlin, American accepts immediately!

And the sub-headline...

Penthouse loft arranged for American and redheaded friend-slash-blogger attached to the site Wookie & Co., redhead pegged as Executive Assistant, starts German classes.

Nice work Santo Kerbina! And have I told you lately I loooved Heidelburg?!

Wednesday, September 9

There are few things we PacNW-ers take seriously. Pac-10 sports, microbreweries, and the delectability of In N Out. With that being said, I was talked off the ledge this afternoon by the Sheriff in wanting a new dad and sisters.

The text-versation as follows:

Sheriff: "Redding.....Guess where the next stop is?"

Me: "I've disowned my family."

Sheriff: "Please don't. I will buy you a Rubberhead."

Me: "Tempting...make it a pitcher and some cajun tots, deal."

Sheriff: "Ha ha and I will throw in a hummus plate to boot."

Me: "Now we're talking...wooooohoooooo!"

Clues for those who don't know what we're talking about. It's called McMenamin's. And it's a place of the Beer Gods. The pinnacle of the Beer Gods. Home to Portland, Oregon. Pure heaven in an always-frosty pint. It dries the eyes of children, while envoking tears in adults of its tasteful concoction. It was a staple of every Oregon State alum's college experience, so much that our boys were known by name at the one just off campus.

McMenny's, I've missed you. It won't be much longer. Keep your head up.

And what would a blog post about In N Out be without the deliciousness of some animalized fries. Thank goodness there weren't any action shots of my dad and sisters mid-bite. My heart couldn't handle that. Coronary, Aisle 4.

She's gone. Again. Story of her life. And not just a few weeks or a couple months time. This girl seems to jump ship for a years-length of time. Next stop: Vienna, Austria.

First it was Germany for a year. Which some awesome Ging (me!) trekked 10 hours on a flight to see her. Not to mention, after almost missing my flight entirely, and de-magnetizing both my debit card and credit card. But I was successful in packing for 2 weeks abroad the morning of my flight (however, that's not why I was late to the airport, fyi).

This time she's on the other end of the radar. No longer student, it's now TEACHER!

I don't have too many details right now, but when we launch her blog this week (oh, yes, you people will succumb to her blog also - Kerb, no pressure now. But in all honestly, it has to be funny. Super funny. Use that brain of yours. If you can study multiple languages, you can humor me. Now go. Try. Succeed!!).

And I need your address too. :D

She left at 1:30pm PST out of Portland, OR (PDX) aboard a Lufthansa flight.

If you have the chance to fly non-American (but I'm not talking like a piss flight between Nepalese villages), go for it. Free alcohol. Better food. Announcements that aren't in English. Good time, great oldies, cool 107!

Not sure what time that puts her into Frankfurt, Germany, but she's probably there by now. She's staying with a friend in Mainz (where she went to school for a year - a town about 45 minutes outside Frankfurt), before she takes the train south, over ze Alps, into Austria, and to the awesome place she'll live for a school year.

Kerb, best of luck. Not like I won't hear from you. Let me know what kind of phone plan you have. If we can accomodate texting. If not, Skype dates it is. And I'll put your time zone on my phone so I can track where you are in your day. Keep me posted. We'll launch the blog soon. Tell Julia hi for me. And I need to email Sandra Grau Grau too. Have some schoko brotchen for me. And some schoko milchen. And ein dunkelweiss, bitte. Ampelmanchen! Omg, now seriously, I may need an Ampelmanchen mug. The green Ampelmanchen. Let me know what you see and how much that would run to ship one back to me.

And what do you want/need from the East Coast? I have mermaids, Navy flair, Obama gear, non-micro beer...

Let's dump it out like a 5 year-old on Christmas. Lootin' time! Let's see here...

Ding, ding, ding. Spankies! With an anchor on it, nonetheless. And scarves!!

In case you didn't get the full effect of seeing the collection of scarves and pair of underoos, let me stand and take a picture for you. Torrid scarves are the best. And the 'roos are completely wedgie-proof. Even Sarah Chalke can't disagree. And the scarves,....oh the scarves. I should dedicated an entire post to them alone. My neck enjoys these scarves. And the one in the middle of the 3 looks like a mexican blanket. Too bad I can't do mexi-scrunchy hair. :(

Thanks Bubby for making my day! I can't wait to see the fam in a few weeks! Beaver Tailgating...watch out! The Sisters are back in action. Ready, set, jello shot!

Here's to those who are enjoying picnics, or concerts, or roadtrips back from Boston in a car full of dudes and 80's rock bands, I hope your labor day is a great day off.

I'm in the midst of a torrential downpour for who-knows-how-long. But it's not like I mind. I live for days that bring me back to Corvallis (larger picture: Oregon). It's not often that the memories of home can be brought on with God's watering can. I guess that solidifies that notion that I'll be inside all day, since the wrath of Hurricane Ashley still needs to be cleaned up. Where's FEMA when you need them? Oh wait, that's right...I'd be waiting a week to get any sort of response. Guess I'll have to start cleaning it on my own. Boo.

Sunday, September 6

I woke up. Had a delicious bowl of Cheerios. Started cranking out this awesome brochure for my dad. Webcam-ed with the Sheriff while we fine-tuned this piece of delectable creativity. Put a fork in it and called it good. All while I snacked on cocktail peanuts "MADE WITH PURE SEA SALT." And lamented about how I need to clean the house before wook gets home otherwise Mrs Wookie will become Mrs Homeless.

So now I'm tired. I had a delicious dinner of French Toast Sunday. I fed the turtles. I've changed into pajamas. And I'm ready for some unconsciousness. I mean, my eyelids are drooping while I barely put this post together.

Tomorrow will be a big day. Well, at least a busy day. I have the entire house to pick up. Sadly Hurricane Ashley still resides over this apartment, strewing contents and possessions everywhere. Good thing I have all day tomorrow to make things right before the wookie of the house makes it home. Ready, set, clean!

Saturday, September 5

It's official, kids. Oregon State launches another great year of Orange and Black, today (this morning to the West Coast folk), in a home game vs. Portland State.

And what are tailgaiting efforts without celebratory mimosas? Good thing Hay and I had a stringent lesson about the proper ratios of mimosas (lots of champagne, just enough orange juice to give it coloring).

And in our family, new season = new sweatshirt complements of the CEO in World Headquarters. Wooohooo!

I'll be picking my new collection when I make it back for the Arizona game.

And this is the first official season Trac will be a legal drinker. Double Woohooo!!!!!

I woke up and went to yoga this morning. Sunrise Yoga. At 9am. Ya, the sun's already up at the time which makes my dad giggle. Anyways...

Walk the 75 yards to the gym, enjoying the recent turn in weather (it's now comfortable sweatshirt weather), ready to get my Namaste on.

Yoga was great. Almost fell asleep during Savasana...again.

On the walk home, enjoyed the weather as I decided that I wanted an egg salad sandwich for lunch before I started cleaning the house and getting my hairdid at 2:45pm.

Then, holy shit, watch out. W..t...f??

Some douche decided to barf right in the line of walking home. Really? You couldn't have diverted from the path by a foot. Or waited until after I got back from yoga, and am on my post-yoga high. No. I'm going to ralph up something fierce right in your path. Great. Thanks. Good thing my legs were warmed up so it wasn't a stretch to put a deep lunge over the mine, avoiding vomit on my flip flops, and trying to not breathe in the stench.

But who really vomits between 9 and 10am, exactly, after a night out (21st b-days excluded)?

Friday, September 4

Let's remember last night was game night. So around 10:00pm, I moved my way to Gator's to take in the Blue and Orange of Boise State. Smurf Turf! Smurf Turf! Smurf Turf! Anyways...pony up to the bar. All by myself, but I'm feeling okay with it. Get a Killian's and a menu. 20 minutes till Kick Off. Am enjoying myself, then...

"Heeeeey, Corvallis........" (it sounded like Stillwell Angel, A League Of Their Own)

I look over. This guy is smiling at me. So I give him my best princess wave.

I am in my grey, angry Beaver, Oregon State sweatshirt, because a girl has got to represent her distaste in the Green and Yellow...oh, and Diamond Plating, Black, Grey, Wings...and any another weird shit Phil Knight feels he needs to put on the jersey. Amen.

This guy continues this allllll night. And it's not like he was routing for the Ducks. He was...well...just...drunk. I mean, listen buddy, just because I'm here on my own, enjoying the game, without another Beaver fan in tow, doesn't mean I'm not used to standing my own. I know plenty of Bandwagon Duck Fans (you know, the kind that love the school, but never actually attended it as an educational establishment minus to score some good weed).

But I don't let it get to me. I'm enjoying an Irish Red. I had 2 sections of the BBQ Chicken Quesadilla. It's a low-scoring game, which I was prepared for a shoot out.

Oh, but let's fast forward to the beginning of the second half. Mr. "Hey Corvallis" comes over to chat with me. Well, chat would be a great verb. However, I think it was more like slurring. No, wait, it was slurring. Heavy slurring. I don't even think he could comprehend a Field Sobriety Test at that moment, but that's beside the point.

In 5 minutes he was oozing alcohol out his pores, I had to concentrate so intently on this guy because his lack of motor skills got in the way of his ability to speak coherently.

But during that 5 minutes of conversation he said he's "from Forest Grove"..."he went to Pacific"..."But I'm really a Huskey fan"...."I played football at Boise State."

So which is it?

Thankfully I could turn my attention back 'round to the game as soon as they kicked off, so he somehow got the hint that Hey, not even remotely interested in a walking breathalizer case.

And the "Heyyyyy Corvallis" continued all night. Swell.

Mid-3rd quarter, nature called so I made my way to the loo. Oh, but who should out-of-nowhere grab my hand like I'm some video vixen available for purchase? "Hey, stay and talk with me."

"I have to pee." Not, I have to use the restroom. Or, some other well-formed method of telling him that there are other priorities than soothing his drunk desire to chat up someone from the exceptional area of the PacNW. "Okay, well stop back by." Ya, will do, can't wait, let's schedule mani/pedis, and go out for tennis at the Club, you'll meet my parents, it'll be grand, want to be my baby daddy?...oh wait, where's a bucket?...I'm going to be sick. Back off, buddy.

No, I don't go back to chat with him. Yes, I tune out his future "Heyyyyy Corvallis." Yes, the bartender only charged me for 2 Killian's, not 3. :) Yes, I left her a healthy tip (like 25% for that slight calculation...yay!). No, I wasn't mugged on the walk home. Yes, I have still have quesadilla leftover for lunch. Yes, I was absolutely entertained when Blount laid a lick on a BSU player. Not because I agreed. But because law enforcement had to restrain him. Killer. It's like an episode of Cops: Green and Yellow Edition.

Thursday, September 3

I came home from work. Got the mail. Opened the door. I really wanted to say, "Hey, I'm home." But there's no one to hear me. Just the turtles. And it'll be like this until Monday evening.

Wook's gone.

And MommyMcD, I know what you're thinking. "That tramp, she promises to come up for the weekend, but then bails on me with plans of football and such, and now she's holding out on coming up since wook won't even be around!" I thought wook would have been around this weekend. But as of last week, those plans changed. Drastically. Connecticut, drastically. And by then I was already in the mindset of not fighting the tunnel traffic to see you. I'm sorry. I'll be up again, I promise-promise. Just hold steady that I won't pick up another cold from your little wascly wabbits.

Anyways, where was I before I was so ruuuudely interrupted...

So I'm home now. Talking to my imaginary fans online. Because face it, I come home from work and my string gets pulled (you know, like a talking doll). I like to talk about my day. How many "That's what she said"s were dropped. The usual.

But tonight, no one. Alone. On a Thursday night. Game night. Who's game night? Boise State vs. Oregon. On at 8:30pm MST. 10:30 EST. So where will I be at 10:00pm? At a bar. Alone. Watching the game on ESPN. Have I mentioned I'll be alone? How sad. I'll be alone, in a bar, drinking a beer, watching football. You'd swear I just had a fight with my wife and was kicked out of the house. But alas, I wasn't. I just don't have anyone to watch it with or the means (we don't have cable because it costs a ridiculous amount and any shows we do watch are also featured online - caught up now?).

Wook's not completely on board with me going to a bar by myself. I think he's worried of the riff-raff that may placate the area. But on the bright side, what if a guy buys me a drink? That's one less I have to pay for. But then there's the issue that he may think I'm single. Which, well, is definitely not the cause. I guess tonight I'll focus on my own tab since I don't have Dr. Stacey Kervokian here to rescue me after I pull the all-signs-point-to-a-needed-rescue ear tug.

But let's get to the deeper issues.

What am I really worried about? Honestly.........feeding myself.

I know, it's sad. At the mid-20s circuit, I'm concerned how I'll survive until Monday when I'm perfectly capable of cooking. Capability is one thing. Skill is another. And wook's a champion in the kitchen, whipping up delectables. My skills severely lack. I blame the gene pool as Hayley came out with all cooking abilities from the genetic mess, and all I got were big eyes. I mean, thanks Dad, all the better to order off a menu when I'm left defenseless and starving on a holiday weekend.

Last night was entertaining as wook and I hit the market for some needed groceries. We were out of milk, and the one day I had to suffice toast for breakfast was the threshold for, how long can Ashley go without Cheerios? But while we were there we decided to pick up some could-be essentials for the long weekend ahead of me. Some bread. Some gatorade. The afore-mentioned milk. Some cheese. Eggs. Micro-brewery beer (yes, an essential). And some other things that I just can't think of right now. And you may be thinking, what about the all-so-awesome frozen dinner? Not yet.

The weekend doesn't worry me as much since I'll have all day to figure out a menu. It's tonight and tomorrow. The times when I come home from work, tired, and starving. Wook, being the champ he is, will usually have dinner started or at least thought out in his head.

And since I have this long break in action between being off work and kick off, I'm left to scrounge in the mean time. And by scrounge I mean, I've already pounded a bowl of Raisin Bran Crunchy Granola (tasty!) and am trying to think of what to make for dinner. But then there's the thought of, do I take a nap? Which I'm thinking yes. It'll make time go by faster, and it'll give me more energy between now and tomorrow morning.

Wednesday, September 2

It's about that time again. The time where you count your candles. And your wrinkles. And the hours it takes to kick a hangover. And realize, wow, it's going downhill and fast. Ugh.

I'll even be honest and tell you that a couple days ago, I forgot how old I was.

26? 27?

How do you forget your age? Easy. You lie about it for repeating years. So I've pretty much brainwashed my short-term memory into thinking that I'm still 24. Awesome, I know.

But lastly, I'm not 24. At least on paper, in my medical chart. I will be hitting that over-the-25-mark of 26. Thank God it's an even number (which makes it easier for me to deal).

So last night I decided to be proactive in starting a birthday wish list to help the wookie in my life out a little. Apparently it's incredibly hard to shop for a girl who thought that a two-butt lawn chair was the coolest thing ever (seriously, I named it the Love Bench and it's a huge hit in baseball game/park outing/barbeque-ing settings). But he's a boy, and I don't want coal for my birthday, so I'll oblige to his silent request.

On the top of that list:

"Wash Car, Vacuum Inside."

I kid you not. I'm too lazy to drive it down somewhere to have it done. And vacuuming it out just takes too much effort (not that my car is strewn with fast food paraphenalia - but my dash is dusty and the Sheriff isn't here to clean it for me). So I'm resorting to my birthday. Which any boy should think, awesome, gift #1...check.

And as I played around with Gifts.com in hopes of lengthening the list that started with a car wash and glass-bottomed Tupperware (I need more receptacles for my leftover-dinner-turned-lunch-at-work), I decided to see what the difference between "Milestone Birthday: 25" and "Milestone Birthday: 30" was.

Honestly, not much. If not lameness. The 25 was still pretty alcohol-based, while the 30 was home-based. Is it bad that I liked what the 30s suggested better? Maybe that means I'm wiser than my years. (Or my mom's thinking that maybe I'm outgrowing my love for vodka tonics - haha, right...I'm my father's daughter, so let's be real).

Thank goodness I still have a little over a month to sort out how old I'm getting.

meet me, mrs. wookie

who is mrs wookie?

he's earned ALL CAPS ORDERS back to the great State for Lovers, and I've followed a couple months later. We spent a wonderful 3-plus years along the California coastline expanding our wine collection, expanding our friends, and deepening our family.

he wrapped up sea duty needs with an extended deployment aboard the USS Boat Food Sucks, but now we're prepping for the next best thing in the Navy: shore duty.

once a snarky milblogger, but now a thought-provoking feminist pain in the ass, let's pour a glass of wine and talk about the real issues - like rain water collection in a new home.

Followers

@WookieAndCo

non-official legalese

Blahdy blah…this is all my opinion, powered by good and bad days with the Navy, and the adverse effects on my vodka supply. While we love paychecks courtesy of Uncle Sam, he by-no-way cares whether it causes grey hair, cirrhosis, or panic attacks…blah blah…